This Is
by korel.c
Summary: American Idol, Glee style.  Puck and Kurt first met each other in their auditions in Atlanta, Georgia. This is their story.
1. Auditions Part 1: Atlanta, GA

**A/N: **I own nothing. No monetary profit is made from this fanfiction, ever. (scared, trembling in a corner at the prospect) Written for glee_fluff_meme, which apparently had someone take it from the puckurt meme.

**This Is**

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* * *

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"Hey, quick pop quiz: What city has American Idol visited _nine_ times, has given us Fantasia, Clay Bayten, Carole Hudson, and Roy Glenfield, and is the birthplace of yours truly?"

"Greenacres, Florida?"

Nope.

"Hollywood?"

Double nope.

"Ambrose, Georgia."

Thaaat's a bit closer.

"Jacksonville, Illinois? Nah, Boston!"

No and no.

"Tampa?"

No.

"New York?"

No.

"San Diego?"

Not it.

"Brazil?"

...Not even close.

"ATLANTA!" the massed crowd of fourteen thousand people shout, and the camera pans across them all.

I mean, come on. Was it _really_ that hard?

* * *

_This is...American Idol.

* * *

_American Idol is back in the Beach State.

"Welcome back to Atlanta!"

Thanks for the welcome, guys. It's lovely to be here.

Every time we come here, the crowds are bigger than ever. Ready to show us the true talent that lies in the Deep South.

Sue and Sandy arrived first, raring to go, but Shannon needed a _little_ more me-time.

"This is going to be a bad bad day...I can feel it from here. This is going to be a bad bad day..."

Poor baby.

Well, this is familiar. Here in Atlanta, contestants will walk into this elevator, then hit the...thirty-second floor, and once they reach the top, the judges will listen to their song.

It's going to be a _long_ ride down if they don't get a golden ticket.

The judges were set, and our first contestant, twenty-three year old Gavin Romano.

"Music. It's my life, my soul. When I get up there, I'll sing with everything I've got! I will be, the next American Idol!"

* * *

"Your voice sounds like seagulls dying in a polluted harbor. Quite frankly, after hearing that, I want to pollute that harbor further, by squatting and _beep_ing in your mouth."

"Sue!"

"Shut your face, lard-hair."

"I don't think you're quite right for this competition," Will Schuester said, smiling gently. "So that's a no from me. Sandy?"

"No, but, Sue, did you have to use that metaphor? It makes me want to retch."

"Get over yourself, sequins. Shannon?"

"No."

"That's four nos, Gavin, go on out the door."

"No, wait, what?"

"Out. _Out._"

* * *

"I can't believe it's ooooooooooooover-"

Oh, yes it is, Gavin. But Atlanta's still got talent to show us. Right? Right?

* * *

"Aaaaaa-"

"Eeeeeee-"

"Iiii waaaaaaant to flyyyyyy-"

"Iiii waaaaaant to diiiiiie from-your-wretched-singing-"

"SUE!"

"Aiii see green, red roses too-"

"I see red, the color of your blood, after I cut your throat, take your bleeding heart,"

"SUE!"

"Ooooooooohhhh!"

"Ohhhhhhhh!"

"eeeeee!"

"Aaaaaaaa-"

Ah, maybe not.

Comin' up, some real talent from Atlanta, Georgia!

"Your voice is the most amazing thing we have heard all day."

"I...love you!"

"You're goin' to Hollywood!"

"You're not bad...I guess."

* * *

We are...deep in the South. And the Southern Belles are a-tollin'.

"...It's like somebody made a foghorn out of a toilet bowl and sucked the water out of the bottom."

"...Sue."

* * *

"Why'd you have to be so mean? You crushed all of my dreams! I lost my job for this!"

* * *

"You could go to Hollywood..."

"Yes!"

"But not with us."

* * *

This is A-T-L, Hotland. It's in the 70s midsummer, and in the 40s in winter. Right now? In terms of the talent? Right now, the judges are feeling about...zero.

But maybe this girl could heat things up a little.

Twenty-one year old Quinn Fabray is a waitress from Cleveland, Georgia. Her cheerleading squad, in full uniform, calls her the 'hottest girl' of Cleveland! Maybe this 'hottest girl' could warm up the judges?

"Hi there, Quinn," Will Schuester said. "It says here that you entered the 'Miss America' competition and won?"

"You?" Sue Sylvester said, lifting her nose. "...Maybe you have a chance. Go on. What are you singing?"

"I Say A Little Prayer," Quinn said, and took a deep breath. "The moment I wake up..."

* * *

"Cute," Sandy said, tilting his head. "And quite minxy. I'm going to say...yes."

"You would," Shannon said, whacking him in the back of the head. "But it's a good voice, girl, and at least it was better than sunglasses boy two contestants ago."

As one, the judges shuddered.

"Alright, it's a yes from me. Sue?"

"I like you," Sue said. Quinn stared back, defiant. "You seem to have a backbone. Yes. Moose-curls?"

"...Four yeses from us. Welcome to Hollywood!"

Quinn held up the golden ticket silently as she walked into the waiting room. As her minions squealed in happiness and hugged each other, she smiled and walked out of the door.

"Well, Quinn?" Ryan asked. "How are you feeling?"

"Happy," Quinn said. "But it was just as I expected."

* * *

Kurt Hummel rested his head on his hands, kicking his legs idly as he stared at the door. He played with his number, 100562, tracing the '2' absent-mindedly. He'd come such a long way, all the way from Port Clinton in Ohio, to audition in Atlanta thanks to his aunt, Olivia.

Aunt Olivia rested a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be alright, Kurt. I know you will. Why don't you mix around a little?"

"I guess," Kurt said.

A boy with a piercing his his eyebrow walked by.

"Ooh, that boy looks cute."

"Aunt Olivia!"

The boy stopped, looked around. Grinned.

"Hey," he said. His eyes widened. "Has anyone ever told you you look just like Anne Hathaway?"

"A couple of times," Aunt Olivia said, smiling.

"And _I_ think Anne Hathaway is hot," the boy - no, man - said, grinning with his hands tucked into his pockets of his jeans. His number read '100466'.

"Why, thank you," Olivia said. "Why don't you sit down here? You with anyone?"

"Yeah, my sister. Sarah! Over here!"

A girl came running up. She must have been seventeen, or eighteen; only a little bit younger than Kurt's nineteen years of age.

"What?" she asked.

"We're sitting here."

"Alright...Puck."

They sat down in the free seats, Puck leaning back, a vision of ease. In contrast, Kurt stiffened, all the lines of his body radiating tension.

"Hey, ease up, little guy."

"What?" Kurt said, uncurling out of the ball of tension he'd been a second ago. The man - Puck's - hand was outstretched.

"I'm Noah Puckerman, but everybody calls me Puck. What's your name?"

And he was smiling. Gods above, he was attractive. But probably straight. Kurt bit his lip and screwed up his courage. "I'm Kurt Hummel. Everyone calls me Kurt. And this is my Aunt Olivia."

Puck laughed. "I like you!" He ruffled Kurt's hair.

Inner Kurt did a little happy dance. _He touched me!_

Normally he'd have been more than a little concerned about his hair, but he'd run his hands through it in nervousness so much that it was a pretty big mess by now anyway.

"I like you, too," Puck added to his Aunt Olivia, and gave her a leer.

"I like you, boyo," she said. "But I'm a lesbian."

"Oh?" his eyes lit up. "So's my sister."

"...PUCK!"

"What? It's true, isn't it?"

"It. Is. Not!" Sarah lunged at him, hitting him over the head with her fist.

"Sorry," Puck said, unrepentant, blocking her flailing arms with his ... muscular...arm...okay, Kurt was salivating about now... "She's still in the closet."

"I am not! Because! I! Am! Not! A! Lesbian!"

"Well, you seem to be bringing a lot of girls back home..."

Aunt Olivia was laughing, and gradually Kurt was smiling too, a little bit.

"You look better when you smile," Puck said to Kurt, quietly.

Kurt smiled wider, his heart pumping faster in his chest.

"What do you sing?" Aunt Olivia asked, after Sarah had plonked back into her chair, crossed her arms, and huffed.

"Rock, mostly," Puck said. "I like ballads as well, but Marley, Hendrix-"

"Puck has this thing about singing stuff by Jewish people," Sarah cut in. "He's obsessive about it."

"I'm not _obsessive_," Puck said. "I just like things I can identify with."

"You're...Jewish?" Aunt Olivia said.

"Kind of lapsed," Sarah said, grimacing. "We're definitely not Orthodox."

"So...like Leonard Cohen?" Kurt said, poking his head up. "That man's voice is sex on two legs."

"I know!" Aunt Olivia and Sarah said, then grinned at each other.

Puck eyed Kurt with a narrowed gaze. "Yeah..." he said, slowly. "I sing Leonard Cohen, too."

"First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin..." Kurt sang, putting it an octave higher so he could actually reach it.

"-I'm guided by a signal in the heavens, I'm guided by this birthmark on my skin..."

They eyed each other.

"You're a good singer," Kurt said, and dropped his head again. "I hope you'll go to Hollywood. 'Cause I probably won't."

"...You've got a good set of pipes, Kurt," Puck said, his voice focused and serious. Sarah and Aunt Olivia looked at each other. Olivia was smiling, slowly.

"Don't give up so early," Puck said. "In fact...I'm going to wait for you until you get into Hollywood. If I have to barge in and complain until you get there, I will."

Kurt looked at him with widening eyes.

* * *

Atlanta. Beautiful Atlanta. Home to some of the most amazing talent, like yours truly.

Or maybe, like _this_ guy.

"Hi, I'm Noah Puckerman, but everybody calls me Puck."

"So why do you think you should be the next American Idol, Puck?"

"Well, Ryan? I don't. I think a guy I just met should be. He's about yay-high and yay-wide, his name's Kurt Hummel, and he's the best singer I've ever heard. But I also want to see how far I can go."

"That's...kind of you."

"When you hear him sing, you'll understand."

"So you're a Jewish boy from Atlanta itself, are you?"

"Yep."

Sue rolled her eyes. "Alright, sing."

"...Yo, cut it. Sooooooooooy uuuun perdedor! I'm a loser baby, so why don'tcha kill me-"

"Stop. Just...stop. Rapping is not singing."

"I disagree, Shannon. For once, I'm actually on lard-hair's side. He's got a fairly decent voice, he could make a living at this sort of thing."

"Hmm..."

* * *

"Well?" Sarah asked, tapping her foot on the ground. Kurt leaned against the wall, biting his lip. Aunt Olivia grinned and uncoiled from her lotus position.

Puck held up the golden ticket.

Sarah screamed and attacked him, knocking him over in a great big hug. Ryan looked rather bemused at it all. "Is this normal?" he asked.

Kurt shrugged. "I've only just met him, but it seems like he's used to it."

From the ground, Puck gazed up at him. "You're next," he mouthed.

Kurt smiled.

* * *

From Port Clinton, Ohio, comes Kurt Hummel, the boy we all just heard about from earlier, with Puck. Will this boy be the best singer we've all ever heard?

* * *

"So, you're from Port Clinton in Ohio, but you're auditioning in Georgia?" Will Schuester asked.

"Yes," Kurt said. "I am."

"Why?"

"Because my aunt took me in, and she lives here."

"Your lesbian aunt," Shannon Beiste said.

"Yes'm," Kurt said.

"Aww," Sandy said. "Family love!"

"And it says _here_," Sue Sylvester said, "That you're out and proud and flaunting off your bits."

"Sue!"

"Yes'm," Kurt said. "I'm gay. I'm proud about being gay. I'm not ashamed of it."

"Well, you've got spirit," Sue Sylvester said, narrowing her eyes. "Continue."

"It won't be easy, you'll think it strange," Kurt sang, his voice floating on every note.

Will blinked. Shannon shifted ever so slightly forward in her seat.

"When I try to explain how I feel - that I still need your love after all that I've done."

Sue's mouth dropped open, just a little.

"...All you will see is a girl you once knew..."

Sandy sniggered a little, before Shannon whacked him across the back of the head and he subsided, groaning in pain.

Kurt's voice rang in the small space, making even the deliberately horrible acoustic ring with the overtones and undertones to his voice, making it sound rich and uniquely him.

Will Schuester sat straight upright in his chair, rapt, captured by the emotion Kurt was projecting with every line, every word, every note.

"-I never expected it to -"

Sandy opened his mouth to stop Kurt there, before Shannon casually laid a hand over his mouth and kept him from speaking.

Eyes closed, Kurt didn't notice.

"Don't cry for me Argentina-"

Sue Sylvester had frozen in the act of reaching for her glass of water.

"...That every word is true."

It felt like the entire room took a gasp of breath when Kurt Hummel opened his eyes and smiled.

"...That was alright," Sue Sylvester said, grudgingly.

"Alright?" Will said. "Sue! That was phenomenal! Yes! A thousand times, yes!"

"Yes from me," Sandy said, smiling.

"And yes from me," Shannon said. "Sue?"

"...Yes."

"Four yeses!" Will said. "Welcome to Hollywood!"

Kurt screamed with joy, grabbed the golden ticket, kissed the judges on the cheek, and ran out of the room.

* * *

"I'm tellin' you, if Kurt doesn't get through, I'm going to march up there and give them a piece of my mind."

The lift door opened.

"Well?" Ryan asked.

"They said...I was phenomenal." Kurt bared the golden ticket.

Olivia and Sarah both screamed and tackled him to the floor. Puck tucked his hands into his tight jeans and smirked at the camera. "Guess I won't have to be angry after all."

"Puck?" Kurt asked, from the floor.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to Hollywood. With you."

"I'm glad."

Of course, how could Kurt Hummel lose, with Anne Hathaway as his lesbian aunt?

Just joking.

* * *

In the end, out of the fourteen thousand hopefuls who auditioned in Atlanta, the judges decided that just twenty-five would go to Hollywood. This is only going to make the pressure tougher on those who survive!

Next week, the Biiiiiiiig Apple. Stay tuned, to American Idol!


	2. Auditions Part 2: New York, NY

My muse said she had a horrible day, so despite my wanting to take four days off, I put my nose to the grindstone and pounded out this chapter. Have a better day today, sweetheart! Happy Chinese New Year!

* * *

**This Is

* * *

**

"Want to go out and celebrate?" Puck said, his hands tucked firmly into his pockets. The light in his eyes defied his nonchalance, however, and Kurt looked up at him, smiling shyly.

"Actually, I kind of want a quiet night."

"Oh, come _on_, dude. We both just got golden tickets to the most wonderful place on earth-"

"-Disneyland?"

"-No, Hollywood, sheesh."

Kurt grinned at him. Puck shoved him, rolling his eyes.

"And we should go out together."

Kurt looked up at him, half-memorising the shape of his face, the line of his jaw, and blinking that away as quickly as he could. It wasn't...he was straight, dammitall. And Kurt'd just met him. He could be a psychopath-killer-stalker-rapist, for all he knew. He looked down. Okay, so maybe not a psychopath-killer-stalker-rapist, but still.

"You two should just plain go out!" Sarah called, disrupting Kurt's reverie. He shot a glance over at her, startled, and saw his aunt convulsing in laughter. Kurt scowled at her and pointed at her, his eyes lidded. 'I'm watching you,' he mouthed.

Aunt Olivia let out a burst of explosive laughter, and clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Your aunt is crazy," Puck said, quirking an eyebrow at Kurt.

Kurt fought not to swoon. That was a sinful expression. _Sinful._ No. No, Kurt Hummel, you will not do the stupid thing like you did with Matt in high school and fall for a guy you barely know, just because he looks cool. And then you'll find out that he doesn't like you that way and you'll ruin a perfectly good friendship by being all stalkery like and coming on way-way-_way_ too strong. No, Kurt Hummel. _Be still, oh, be still my beating heart! Oh, good._ Kurt took a deep, calming breath. _I succeeded._

"Kurt, Kurt. You all right?" Puck said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

_And...failed. Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh he's touching me!_

Inner Kurt did a happy dance.

"What? Oh, oh, I'm alright." Kurt smiled up at him.

"Tell you what. You two, come over to our place. I've got booze all over the place, and Kurt here rarely drinks. You should see him when he's wasted. Most hilarious videos I've taken in my _life-"_

"Aunt Olivia!"

Puck chuckled, and Kurt instantly felt heat rush into his face. And slightly further down. Sarah laughed and hid it behind her hand, clinging to Aunt Olivia.

"You know what?" Sarah said. "You're my new best friend already!"

Aunt Olivia grinned. "You and me, we're going to be _matchmakers."_

Puck sank his forehead into his hands. "Why do I feel the end of the world approach?"

"Don't be silly, Puck," Aunt Olivia said. "The end of the world was three years ago. We're in the future."

"I like to live in the present," Puck said. "Which is why your offer of coming over to your place sounds like a good 'un. We'll be there."

"Great. We live at Taft Avenue, Northeast..."

* * *

After Kurt and Olivia had left, Sarah walked backward, her face serious.

"Puck."

"Yeah?"

"Kurt can _never _meet our mother."

Puck looked away, up at the buildings surrounding the Georgia Dome, at the bright sky overhead.

"I know, but...if he goes as far as I think he will, she'll get to know him anyway. All of America will."

"...You have that much confidence in him from one line?"

"Yes." Puck laid a hand on her shoulder, and looked into her eyes. _I believe in Kurt._ "I do."

* * *

_This is...American Idol.

* * *

_

_Skyline. More skyline._

_Shot high above New York, all the neons and lights flashing on and off in quick sequence, the cars on the roads a blur of yellows lights and fire, red flares-fire. The clouds in the night quickly pass by, budding and forming, and the black sky turns orange-purple, then to blue._

_It is dawn._

_Shots cut between the two audition buildings for the Five Boroughs, each with massive crowds outside._

_In Manhattan, the Scrivener Building._

_The Bronx. Errant Floors._

New York, New York. The City That Never Sleeps. American Idol doesn't sleep either, and I can tell you that most of us didn't sleep for a _week _organising this. But this, this is an American Idol first.

For the first time, all five boroughs of New York City have _two_ places to audition in. This frees up places for people who couldn't make it to other auditions to come in here.

And man, the crowds are big. But that's only to be expected from the Big Apple.

* * *

Now, New York has given us a ton of famous musicians, and singers. Perhaps the next American Idol will be here, in New York.

_Start spreading the news_...okay, okay, I'll stop singing.

And anyway,

_camera pans over the massive crowd at the Scrivener Building_

I get the feeling that the news has already been spread.

* * *

It's 9 o' clock in the morning, but Sandy _clearly_ hasn't had his beauty sleep yet.

_Shot of Sandy, with bags under his eyes and yawning, pushing the camera away_

"I...need...sleeeeeeep."

_Shannon, rolling her eyes, and lifting him with one hand_

"Come on, Sandy. When the kids start singing, their shrieks will wake you up."

"Zzzzz..."

Ho-okay. So who's going to act as Sandy's alarm clock?

Meet today's first contestant, Judy Santiago. If you remember, she's a returnee from Season 13, when she ad-libbed half of Another One Rides The Bus at the judges.

"Hi, Ryan!"

"Hi, Judy. So, what are you going to sing for us this season?"

"Well...I've recently gotten into comedy songs."

Recently? Wait, she sang that first one _seriously? _Oh, my.

"...I see."

"It's a secret, what I'm going to sing!"

"Okay. Well, you head on in."

"Thanks, Ryan. I'll see you in Hollywood!"

That's a...little confident, isn't it?

* * *

Judy walked into the room.

"_You."_

"Hi, Sue!"

"Zzzzz..."

"Wake up, Sandy."

"Leave him alone, Shannon, he needs his sleep."

"And why bother waking up anyway? It's _this_ girl. I might take a nap myself."

Judy looked insulted.

"Hey! I'm funny this year."

"You're funny every year. If you were any 'funnier' I'd call up the Special Foundation and tell them they lost a retard."

"_SUE._"

Judy pouted.

"Aren't you going to listen to my song?"

"Zzzzzz..."

"Okay, what are you singing for us today?"

"Thanks, Will." She smiled prettily. "I'm going to sing 'Sugarlumps' by Flight Of The Conchords."

"Flight of the Conchords?" Shannon's eyes opened widely. "Well." She settled back into her seat, arms crossed.

"She likes that sort of thing."

"I do." Shannon made a gesture. "Go on."

Judy took a breath.

"I see you girls checkin' out my trunks, checkin' out the front of my trunks..."

Will winced as the girl warbled her way through a deadpan semi-comedic song, singing it like an opera star. Albeit one without the opera quality. Or the 'star'.

"My sugarlumps are two of a kind - sweet and white and highly refined-"

"Stop...just stop."

"Huh? But I had the rest of the song to go!"

"Sweetheart, do you know what that song was about?"

"Coffee?"

Shannon hit her forehead with her hand.

"It's about sugar though, isn't it?"

"Based on grounds of sheer stupidity, I am going to say no. Greasehair?"

Will glared at Sue, then softened his look as he turned to face Judy. "I'm sorry, but the singing wasn't good enough-"

"And I took his sugarlumps and put 'em up in a display, and sold 'em as hacky sacks later that day-"

Will pressed his knees together and grimaced in pain.

"You _listen_ to this?" he hissed at Shannon.

"It's funnier in context. No. You're not going through."

"It's a no from me, too, I'm sorry."

"That's three. Can you count? Out. Get out _now_."

Judy walked out the door.

"They'll pay! They'll pay! ALL THE LADIES, THEY WANT A TASTE OF MY SUGARLUMPS!"

"Oh, my God. That was horrible."

"I've heard worse from my gynaecologist after he sees the state of my-"

"-NEXT!" Shannon bellowed, desperately.

"Zzzzz..."

* * *

So it seems that despite her assurances of being funny, Judy took leaving rather seriously.

"_BEEP _YOU. _BEEP_ YOU ALL. YOU CAN ALL GO AND _BEEP _YOURSELF! MOTHER_BEEP_KERS!"

"Ohh...my head."

Although despite her failure to get to Hollywood, she seems to have succeeded in being an alarm clock.

"It...hurts."

"Disgraceful. _Disgraceful."_

"Sue!"

"Ow. Stop shouting?"

"If a man can't take his drink, what sort of a man is he?"

"It's a natural affliction, Sue, not everyone's tolerance is as high as yours!"

"_You_ managed to drink him under the table."

Oh-hokay. We didn't need to know that. Judges...partying..._(_finishes, strangled) -_nightmares...

* * *

_

This is Manhattan, largest of the five boroughs in New York City. Wall Street is here. But although the country is finally recovered from the Great Recession, we're...not exactly striking it rich here.

What better way to talk about this recession than John Mackenzie, a thirty-one year old accountant?

"Hello."

"What are you singing today, John?"

"...It's a bit ironic, but I'm singing 'Bills, Bills, Bills'."

"You're right, that's a bit ironic. Ah," Ryan said, tapping his earphone. "There's the signal. Go on and head in."

* * *

"You're an accountant, and you're singing Bills, Bills, Bills. Doesn't that...kind of...go against what you're all about?"

"I just like the song."

"Isn't it by Destiny's Child?"

"I'm going to sing that high."

"Mm-hm. Go on. This could be interesting."

"At first we started out real cool, _cool_."

_'cool', a crowd of people around a boombox exclaim._

_a brunette in a green tube-top _"-Taking me pla-aaaaaces I ain't never be-eeee-eeeen-"

"Ungggh. Ow. My eaaars."

_A black man screeching in falsetto_ "-And now you ask to use my car,"

_car, another crowd of people exclaim._

_A blonde painted in the style of a cat_ "-Drive it all day and don't fill up the tank-"

_can you pay my bills_

_can you pay my telephone bills_

_can you pay my automo'bills_

_then maybe we can chill_

"-I don't think you do, so you and me are through-"

"-You and me are throooooooooooooooough-"

"Sue!"

"It's true. And I did a better job of singing it than _you_ did, girl with the pointy ears and butt-plug tail. So you can gerron out that door because you are _not _going to Hollywood."

"It's true," Sandy shrugged.

* * *

Although the bills seem to be piling up, maybe with this girl, we can strike the jackpot?

"H-hi, I'm T-Tina."

"Hi, T-Tina."

The gothically-dressed girl bit her lip and looked down.

"Well, that made me feel bad. I'm sorry, Tina. What are you going to sing for the judges today?"

"I-I Kissed A Girl."

Ryan looked at her. He clearly thought about it. Looked at her again.

"Good luck. I think you'll need it."

* * *

"Hi, I'm T-Tina. I'm t-tw-twenty-t-two years old, and I'll b-be singing 'I K-Kissed A Girl'."

"You will, will you," Sue said. "From the way you dress, I'd think that you'd have gone a little further than kissing."

"SUE!"

"I'm only speaking the truth, Shampoo."

* * *

"-I kissed a girl, and I liked it, the taste of her cherry chapstick-"

"Nnngh!"

"Sandy..."

"I think that's enough out of you, Ryerson."

Tina uncrossed her legs and hopped off the table in front of Sandy, running her finger down his face as she went, grinning hard.

"Nnnnghff."

"Well, since Sandy seems to have been rendered incapable of speech, I'm going to venture a yes. You're a good singer, and the stutter seems to have vanished."

"Th-thank you."

"-Spoke too soon," Will groaned. "I think you'll go quite far, anyway. It's a yes from me."

"No," Shannon said, her arms crossed. "You're too unpolished with your voice. You were pitchy, all over the place. I'd say, come back again next year."

"Sandy?"

"Y-y-y-y-yeees!"

"Great. If I have to deal with that for the rest of the day, you will pay...in _Hollywood._"

"Wh-What?" Tina said, her eyes wide. "I'm-I'm g-going to Hollywood?"

"Yep," Will said, after casting a glance at his fellow judge. "Welcome to Hollywood!"

"Thank you! Thank you thank you th-thank you!"

* * *

Well, there's one singer h-happy. But we've still got an entire day to go.

* * *

Coming up, after the break: While Manhattan struggles to impress our judges, The Bronx is getting ready to rock and roll.

"Waaaaaaaaaauuuugh!"

"Ohhhhhh YEEEEAH!"

* * *

_Sped up vertical pans of the Scrivener Building; people leaning out over the observation decks waving quickly vanish inside in streams, while dejected people appear out the bottom in crowds, some swearing and making censored gestures as they walk away. Little celebrations form and dissipate as the sun overhead races towards the horizon, and the sky darkens to a purplish-red before the camera slows again._

"How are you feeling, guys?"

"How are you still so peppy, Ryan?" Sandy asked, supporting his head as he staggered out of the building. Behind them, the security guards are already locking up.

"He's an overgrown midget," Sue said. "Midgets have their own innate power. That's why it's legal and safe to launch them out of cannons. Since Ryan managed to get a little more height, he has more energy. That just means," Sue smirked, "That when I finally fire you out of a cannon, you'll go further than the other seventeen."

"Er..."

* * *

The Bronx. We're on the thirteenth floor of the Errant Floors building.

"Oh please oh please we're on the thirteenth floor I _don't want to die-"_

"Sandy, shut up."

* * *

The Bronx is home to Edgar Allan Poe's Cottage. But are the contestants as _spooky_ as that?

_Shot of a man made up in KISS makeup_

_Shot of a woman dressed up like a drag queen witch_

_Shot of twenty-one people body-painted as two flamingos, a crab, and eighteen foxes._

...Er...maybe.

But this is a _singing _competition, and maybe we'll find someone.

"AIIIIII CAAAAAN CLIIIIMB MOOOUNTAINS!"

Someone.

"-AIN'T NO RIVER WAAAAAHD ENOUGH!"

_Someone._

_In a monotone:_ "-Running up that hill, no problems."

_Anyone._

"-Dri-hi-hi-hinking wh'ite wine in the suuuun-"

Anyone?

* * *

"Hi, Ah'm Mercedes Jones, and Ah'm from the Bronx. Ah grew up near to some rough neighbourhoods, but Ah've been singin' all my life. People come to respect me, y'know? With a body like mine, an' a voice like mine, Ah'm definitely gonna be the next American Idol."

"You certainly are confident, Mercedes."

"You bet Ah am."

"So, what are you singing for us today, Mercedes?"

"Ah'm singin' Respect, Aretha Franklin's version."

"Respect, huh. You're going to have to earn mine, fattie. I've heard that song too many times to count."

"Oh-ho," Mercedes said. "You gonna love my rendition." She sucked in a breath.

* * *

"Ooh, what you want, baby Ah got it- what'chu need, do you know Ah got it?"

Sandy began to bob in his seat, smiling a little bit and clicking as he swayed from side to side.

"Ooh, all Ah'm askin' - is for a little respect when you come home (just a little bit) Hey baby, when you ge-e-e-e-e-e-t home-"

"Whoo!" Will said, grinning broadly and clapping in time as he began to bob from side to side.

Sue glanced at him and crossed her arms. Shannon crossed her arms as well, but a small smile crossed her lips.

"-R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me, R-E-S-P-E-C-T, take care, TCB! Ooooo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ooh-ooh-yeah! Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-yeaaaaaaaah! Oh! Oh! Oh, oh, yeeeeah!"

"Yeah!" Sandy and Will cheered, and shared a high five over the top of Shannon's head.

Shannon scowled at both of them.

"Stop," Sue said, looking directly at Mercedes. "What would you do if you won American Idol?"

"Umm...Ah don't know."

"Hn."

"I'm going to spend my vote carelessly and tell you you've earned my respect, Mercedes! Yes from me! Will?"

"It's a yes from me too. Whoo! What a solo! You've got lungs, girl!"

"Thanks, Mr. Schue."

"Aww, Will, she gave you a nickname!"

"Oh, be quiet," Shannon said. She studied Mercedes closely for a second. "You're a girl after my own heart. Yes."

"Sue?"

"...I don't think you're cut out to be our American Idol, fat black woman, but you're better than most of these other _beeps _that're coming through the door. You're through."

"Yes! YES! THANK YOU! Ah'll see you in Hollywood!"

* * *

So while our own Aretha Franklin celebrates, let's see who else the judges've picked from New York.

_quick flashes of all the faces_

So in total, fifty-one people were chosen from New York (thirty-four from Manhattan, and seventeen from the Bronx), to match the twenty-five that Atlanta gave us. Next week, we go to a little state that we like to call...Texas.

Stay tuned, to American Idol.


	3. Auditions Part 3: San Antonio, TX

**A/N:** I did lots of research. Lots.

* * *

**This Is

* * *

**

Pulling up on the curb outside the address Olivia had given them, Puck rubbed his eyes and stared. The red-brick house was considerably less ... dirty than his own house. It was neat, and tucked away behind a copse of trees. He carried the last sixpack of beer under his arm, and walked into the building.

Sarah followed her brother up the flights of stairs, before they emerged on the third floor landing and Kurt and Olivia's apartment door.

Puck hesitated, looking at the beer he'd brought. He looked back at the door. Back at the beer. Back at the door.

Behind him, Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Hello the house!" she yelled. "We're here!"

"Finally!" Olivia pulled the door open. "You have to help me. Kurt's refusing to drink-is that Carlsberg? Oh, it is! Frabjulous day!"

Olivia plucked the beer out of his hands before Puck even really registered her presence, and ushered them in. Sarah laughed a little at his expression.

"Where's Kurt?" Puck asked.

"Kurt?" Olivia called. "Puck's here!"

No response.

"He's hiding from me," Olivia confessed with a grin. "Except he doesn't know that I've spiked everything remotely liquid in the house, and he disdains drinking from the tap."

"Kurt?" Puck called. "You there?"

No response.

"Aww. I'll have to go looking for him, I guess."

"Everything's open. Just disregard my toy collection," Olivia called after him.

Puck's eyes went wide for a moment. His gaze tracked back to her. He scurried away.

"_You_ don't have to disregard it, though," Olivia said, and Sarah blushed.

"Drink?"

* * *

Kurt lay under his bed, staring up at the underside of his mattress, trying his hardest not to sneeze and give away his location to his aunt, who'd force him to drink beer, and wine, and vodka, and everything else, and get him so horrifically, frightfully drunk that he wouldn't be able to remember anything, and that would be bad because he might kiss Puck and then he wanted to be able to remember that tomorrow, you know?

Yeah...so...

Mm...Puck...

Something warm and firm settled next to him, pressing against his side.

"Hi," Puck said.

Kurt stiffened, and began to breathe faster. "Hi," he said.

"Finally found you," Puck said. "Why aren't you outside?"

"I don't want to drink," Kurt said. "Bad experience."

"So you hid under your bed?"

"I usually go for the closet," Kurt said. "I thought hiding here might put my aunt off long enough that I could flee."

"Good choice."

A warm hand settled on Kurt's chest, and Kurt promptly forgot about breathing. "Uhh..."

"Breathe, Kurt," Puck said, worried, noticing that Kurt's chest wasn't moving under his hand.

"Say, if I promise to protect you from your aunt, will you go outside with me?"

Kurt took several hasty breaths (so the spots dancing in front of his eyes would go away), closing his eyes inadvertently to savour Puck's hand on his chest, Puck's warmth pressing into his side, the unfamiliar scent of his cologne, his voice.

"Yes-" Kurt breathed. "Let's go."

A burst of laughter from outside filtered through the bedroom wall.

"That...I should probably check that my sister's not pressuring your aunt into doing things."

"Puck!" Kurt's eyes snapped open. "That's a horrible thing to say about your sister!"

"You don't know her like I do."

"I...want to. I want to know her. She's cool."

"Oh. Heh, yeah, she's _my _sister, after all. And I notice you didn't object about your aunt."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Let's just go out if we're going."

"What you said."

They rolled separate directions, and got to their feet at the same time.

Raising an eyebrow, Kurt slowly turned to look at Puck, only to find that he was looking back.

They stared at each other for a while, silent, their stares fraught with meaning. Like grunts, only more melodramatic.

Kurt cracked up, and a smile began to curl at Puck's lips.

* * *

Another burst of laughter came in through the wall. Puck snapped his gaze away and slammed Kurt's bedroom door open.

"Hey Olivia, he was under the bed-Sarah, what are you doing?"

Kurt moved to the door, revealing Sarah with her hand in Olivia's pocket, the both of them freezing and blushing slightly.

"It-It isn't what it looks like!" Sarah said, her eyes wide. "It really isn't!"

Puck slapped his hand to his head. "Sure it isn't..."

"I was getting our house key, Olivia snatched it while I was distracted!"

"And why exactly were you distracted?" Puck asked, rubbing his eyes.

"-Kurt! You're here!" Olivia said, pouncing forward. "Let's get drunk!"

"No!" Kurt said, sliding behind Puck. He could smell alcohol on her breath. "I don't want to!"

"Hey, ease up on him," Puck said. "If he doesn't want to drink, he doesn't need to."

Meanwhile, Sarah's eyes closed for a second and she started smirking. "Kurt was under the bed, Puck? Did you crawl under and stay with him? You were in that room for an awfully long time."

"..."

"..."

"Yeah, go Kurt! Get some!"

"Aunt Olivia!"

Puck dropped his head into his hands. "I'm not drunk enough for this yet."

* * *

_This is...American Idol.

* * *

_

We're in Texas, the biggest state in America...if you know what I mean.

_Shot of Ryan winking. A cross appears over his face._

More precisely, we're back in San Antonio, home of the Alamo. It's 65 degrees outside, and people are sweating profusely in the scorching midday sun. The crowds are packed. So is the sand under their feet as they shuffle closer.

I bet they're envious of the judges. The judges've all had air-conditioning over the last few hours, as they fly toward San Antonio, and another few days of judging.

Then again, I think the judges are envious of the contestants, who've actually had more than three hours of sleep.

"San Antonio won't let me down. They're a good bunch, with lots of talent, very hot and hip talent - _no, _Sandy, I won't say 'caliente' just to please you...yes, I may have been a Spanish teacher once but there are _synonyms..."_

"I like my new blond wig. And I'm looking forward to the cowgirls...if you know what I mean. Ow! Shannon, you didn't have to do that, did you? No, you didn't!"

"Grease-hair said that he's not in the mood to be forgiving today. I have a mind to say yes to contestants that I personally feel should be left in the middle of a stampeding crowd of Twilight fans holding up a petition that says 'Edward Mullet (or whatever his name is) is ugly' at the top. Just to _beep _with his mind."

"We'll see how this goes. I'm not expecting much."

_Shots of the judges moving into the judging room, sitting down, and taking drinks from their cups in front of them. Shannon hits Sandy over the head, presumably at a comment he made. Time speeds up, cameramen and makeup people bustling around in blurs, clearing the room and floors. The camera shows us to the waiting room, and people file in, filling the plush seats with their presences. They move around, forming clumps as they warm up, or get together and jam. They know it'll be a long day._

_One by one, they filter into the room, and come back out, dejected. Ryan buzzes around from contestant to contestant, interviewing them, or their families._

In the waiting room, the ambience is...hopeful. In the judge's room, the ambience is...

* * *

"Will _somebody _with _talent WALK THROUGH THAT DOOR? _Sometime in this century, hopefully?"

"Shannon. I may have a higher degree of respect for you than usual."

"Thank you, Sue."

"Will? Are you as scared as I am?"

* * *

Despite the eloquently worded despair, surely the judges will give everybody a clear and fair shot at the title?

"Hi, I'm Rick Riordan, and I'm the next American Idol! Because I sound like Steven Tyler!"

"Mmhm-"

"Baby, you can drive my c-"

"No."

"Out."

"Now."

_"Please."_

Then again...

* * *

"I'm Finn Hudson. My mom's name is actually Carole, but we're no relation to that lady. We live in New River, Arizona."

_Shot of a small, quiet town, the sky blue and open, without clouds. _

"New River's got an interesting history. Phoenix is just next to it. A coupla years back, New River was part of Phoenix. Then the city went back on itself. It's been going back and forth like that for about twenty years, but I guess I was a Phoenician for a bit, but now I'm from New River."

"I'm twenty-four this year," Finn Hudson says earnestly, the skyline of San Antonio behind him. "I love to sing. I sing pretty often in the shower, on the road. It's my first time out of Arizona, being in San Antonio. I'm kind of nervous. I've never been a city person, you know, and San Antonio's big. Bigger even than Phoenix."

"I'll just have to sing my heart out and hope that the judges like me."

* * *

"You're Finn Hudson?"

"Yes I am, ma'am."

"Hmph."

"Alright, what are you singing for us, Finn?"

"Can't Fight This Feeling, by Reo Speedwagon." He sucked in a breath. "I can't fight this feeling any longer - and yet I'm still afraid to let it flow-"

* * *

"You sang with emotion, with passion, with life, with such love - I have tears in my eyes, man! Tears! Real tears! See, these are tears!"

"Decent," Shannon said. "I see potential."

"Aw, shucks. Thank y'."

"You're a country boy from the South," Sue said. "A fresh-faced ninny redneck who thinks that cows should have the right of way. That said...apart from my innate tendency to take idiots like you apart, it was a pretty good sound. Chewy. A voice I could sink these teeth into. And not many things survive these teeth."

Finn got a weirded out look on his face.

"You could be a star," Will said. "Yes."

"Yes."

"Yes!"

"Yes."

"Welcome to Hollywood, Finn."

Finn smiled, a little quirk of his lips, then walked out the door, his pace even and measured.

"I like him. He's a steady sort of character."

* * *

A 'star', huh? Will he be the Lone Star in the Lone Star State? Or will San Antonio give us something to remember?

* * *

_Twenty-eight year-old Janelle Thornton, holding a baby in her arms._

"Sha-la-la-la, la-la-la, baby, I took my baby out on Saturday night, I took her till I thought the party was riiiiight-"

"Are those even the right lyrics?"

"Sha-la-la-la, la-la-la, baby, I took _your _baby out on Saturday night, stuck it with a group of pedos and I got the fuel right, then I took out my lighter, and I set your baby alight, sha-la-la, la-la-la-"

"SUE!"

* * *

"Cause I don't waaaaaaaanna miiiiiisss a thiiing-IIING!"

"OW!"

"...OW! I'm bleeding!"

_contestant claps his hand to his head. People rush in and lead him away. Camera shows a trophy on the ground. It's a Grammy._

"Sue, where the hell did you pull that from?"

"My bullshit wagon." Sue shrugged. "It's ironic that I fling bullshit at bullshit."

_camera pans down to a little red toy wagon filled with Grammys and Oscars Sue has won over the years._

"He should be glad. It's the closest he'll ever get to one of them."

"Shan_non_!"

* * *

"I believe in miracles, it don't matter if you're black or white!"

"It'd take a miracle to get you to sound good."

"Oh, and it does matter, you...you...dog-eater wog-beater _beep_-licker mother-_beep_ker."

"...SUE!"

* * *

"...I'm gonna take you back to my house, I like it when you touch me, baby!"

"This is disturbing."

"Very."

"Hn."

"It's the hands."

"No...the pelvic thrusts."

"It's the face."

"..."

"What, no protest, tallow-locks?"

"I can't...since I agree with you."

* * *

Well, if nothing else, San Antonio's given us enough material for a 'Sue Sylvester: Most Offensive Lines' episode.

Next up, a girl named Jasmin Morris, nineteen years old. She's from Fayetteville, Arkansas, and says that she's very open-minded. I hope she's open-minded about criticism, since Sue's on a roll today.

I think Sandy's going to _love_ her.

* * *

"Hi, Jasmin. What'll you be singing today? Don't mind Sue. She's seething."

"With righteous fury, you dumb...dumb."

"Previous contestant. Don't let it put you off."

"Um. I'll be singing 'Holy Moly' by Cathy Davey."

"Go ahead."

"I'm all eager, to get started..."

Sandy sat up straight, his eyes wide. Sue's Glare-Of-Doom (patented) tracked toward Sandy.

"Don't want to leave it all undone though..."

Sue's fingers wrapped around the base of one of her more heavy Oscars.

Without looking away from Jasmin, Will rolled his chair backward so he was out of the line of fire.

Shannon leaned forward.

Sandy was almost panting audibly, his eyes wide and fixated.

"-I'm all right, he's all right, we're all fine, we're all okay..." Sue hefted the Oscar over her shoulder.

Shannon raised a hand.

Jasmin stopped.

Sue dropped the Oscar back into its wagon with a clatter. Sandy continued staring at the girl, unaware of how close he'd come to being admitted to the emergency room in the nearest hospital.

"Thoughts?"

"I thought that it was the most amazing performance I have ever heard anywhere ever!"

Will glanced at Sue. "Breathy, knowledgeable about your voice. You do have marketing potential, Jasmin." He clasped his hands and leaned forward. "You have good control over your voice. And makings to be a very unique singer."

"Hn," Sue said. "Marketing potential- at least up until you turn twenty-one and men twice your age are no longer unhealthily attracted to you. I must say that your dyed blonde hair and little..." Sue sneered, "...schoolgirl...outfit, certainly don't help things."

"It's natural!" Jasmin protested.

Sandy clearly swallowed, mouth opening and closing, unable to speak.

Sue felt around for the heaviest Oscar again.

"Still..." Shannon said. "You're eligible to a 'yes' from me."

"I've already said yes, and Sandy's a bit like a wagging dog in that aspect. Welcome to Hollywood."

Jasmin broke into a grin. Laughing, she jumped up and down and rushed to shake the judges' hands. She kissed Sandy on the cheek, and he practically collapsed. At Sue, she paused.

"For the record, bottle-blonde girl, I would have said no," Sue said. "Next!"

Even with that, Jasmin's good spirits wouldn't be harmed, and she raced out the door with a golden ticket clasped in her hands.

* * *

"Now I am going to the toilet to relieve some of the pressure the vomit in my stomach is exerting on my rectal regions." Sue stood up, pushing away from the table. "You may continue your meaningless judging. I believe that there is no talent left in this _godforsaken _town."

"..."

"Hey, can I get people over here to remove her wagon of trophies?"

A producer scurried over.

"I'm afraid that if the temptation remains, we'll have to pay for Sandy's funeral."

"...Why's Sue targetting me?"

"..."

"We'll never explain it to him, Will."

"...Does she have to have a reason, Sandy?"

"Oh! Right! Of course! Why didn't I think of that?"

* * *

Speaking of things without reason, how about this next contestant, Mason Ersoft?

"What are you wearing, Mason?"

"It's a Spongebog Squarepants outfit!"

"...I _must_ have misheard. _Why _are you wearing a Spongebob Squarepants outfit?"

"Mrrrow."

* * *

"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? SPONGEBOG SQUAREPANTS!"

"Shouldn't...that...be...Sponge_bob_?"

"Do not misunderstand my genius!"

"Uh-huh."

"I..can't...look...away..."

"Absorbent and yellow and porous is he! SPONGEBOG SQUAREPANTS!"

"His pants are on the ground. Oh, my god, his pants are on the ground. Stop, please! Stop!"

"MY EYES!"

"I need brain bleach."

"Alright, let's make an end to this farcical procedure. You, terminally fat contestant: No amount of fakery will make your stomach become any flatter or less jiggly. At the same time, you are so square that Sandra Bullock's face wants its shape back."

"SUE!"

"You are a lazy, fat slob with no talent whatsoever in the vocal arena. You would be best put to work in roadworks, as a _roadblock_. So, isn't there a tunnel somewhere in Wyoming that needs you?"

"You're no singer."

"Screw you-screw you all!"

"Coming from a man with taste - don't cry in that sort of heavy makeup. It runs."

"Taste? Do you mean drag queen taste?"

"Shannon, you wound me."

* * *

Next up, Robert Miles. Robert's a cashier at a local cafe, called Twin Sisters Bakery & Cafe. He says that he's lucky that he managed to get in today, because his next shift is tomorrow morning.

"So, Robert, who do you think you sound like?"

"I'm like...Frank Sinatra. Cool, hip, and happening."

"...Right. Head on through, then."

Frank Sinatra, though certainly cool, isn't exactly _happening_.

* * *

"So what are you singing for us today, Robert?"

"That's Life, by Frank Sinatra."

"Alright," Shannon said.

"Dwee-do-dwee-dwee-do-dwee-dwee-do-do-dodododo. That's life, that's LI-IIIIIFEE! That's what ALL the PEOPLE say! YOU'RE riding high IN April! SSSSHHOT down IN May!"

Shannon crossed her arms and grit her teeth. More expressive, Sandy winced whenever Robert hit a wrong, loud, note. With the frequency, it looked as if he'd developed an eye twitch. Sue remained passive. Will remained hopeful.

"But I KNOW I'M GONNA CHANGE THAT TUNE!" Robert warbled, his eyes closed.

Will, surreptitiously, brought his hands up to cover his ears. Robert didn't notice.

"When I'm back ON top, back ON top, IN June! THAT'S LIFE-"

"I'm going to call this death metal," Sandy whispered. "-Because it's like metal. Dying."

He frowned. "Plus, I'm dying. From the singing. Because it's bad."

Will rolled his eyes. "Er, Robert?"

"THAT'S LIIII-IIIFE! -Yess? I'm going to Hollywood, right?"

"Er...no."

"You could wake zombies with that voice. Since Hollywood has so many skeletons in everyone's closet, you'd be a menace."

"Shannon?"

"No. Four no's, I'm afraid. Try again next year."

"Or _don't_," Sandy muttered.

* * *

_Shot of Ryan walking in front of Rosa's Window at San Jose._

Vamos a estar de vuelta despues de estos mesanjes. That means, we'll be right back. After these messages.

* * *

Welcome back to American Idol. We're in San Antonio, the seventh-largest city in America.

Sure enough, the crowds reflect it. It's already sunset, but there's still about two thousand people that haven't seen the judges yet. Of course, given the mood of some of the judges, that's probably a /good/ thing.

"You are a _self-indulgent, sickening _excuse for a human being. I am ashamed of being of the same species as you are."

"SUE!"

Sandy cowered under the desk.

"...Of course, I applied to have 'Sue Sylvester' as a new species a decade ago, but for some reason the jarheads keep rejecting my perfectly logical reasoning. Sue Sylvester is just too_ perfect_ to be human."

"..."

* * *

The final contestant for the night is one Melissa Matthews. Originally from Marrero, LA, she moved to Houston when she was three or four, and considers herself a Houston girl. _Her _way of dressing _would _cause some eyebrows to lift off into space.

"You're singing "All That Jazz" from Chicago? Take it away."

"-Come on babe, why don't we paint the town. And all that jazz..."

* * *

"Now that you've reduced Sandy into a drooling ball...not for the first time today, I might add...we'll actually talk about your voice. You're an alto, low, sultry, hints of rasp. That's good. Makes you unique. I think you'd make a good addition to our Hollywood portfolio and...does anyone object?"

No objection.

"...And, we happen to have some golden tickets left over."

"Welcome to your first step toward fame, Melissa."

"Whoo!"

"They're so jiggly, p-OOF!"

Shannon shook her hand out. "His skull is getting harder by the year, I swear."

* * *

_Shots of the Alamodome at night, the seats all empty now, the lights dimming, the judges walking out of the judging room toward their stretch limos._

_Looking frightened, a messenger wheels the little red toy wagon full of Oscars toward Sue._

_Sue takes it from him without turning back._

_The messenger wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead._

On that note of relief and joy, Melissa joins sixteen other contestants from San Antonio, Texas, in going to Hollywood.

True to their motto, San Antonio, Texas, has definitely provided us something to remember, whether it's good, bad, or Sue. Next week, we're headed to a town named after a President - Lincoln, in Nebraska.

Stay tuned...to American Idol.

* * *

"You're new in town, right? So am I!"

"I guess."

"C'mon, Finn. Let's go down the River Walk, okay?"

Finn smiled a little. "Why not?"

"It's so romantic," Jasmin sighed. "Do you mind?"

"Not really," Finn said, scratching the back of his head. "It's not like I have a girlfriend to complain about it."

"You're single?" Jasmin said. "Why?"

"Does there have to be a 'why' about it?"

"But you're good looking, and nice! Why aren't you dating anyone?"

Finn shrugged. "Never found a girl I really liked, I guess. I didn't want to force myself on any other girl, if'n they didn't want me."

"Oh, that's so romantic!" Jasmin said, her eyes shining. "You know what else is romantic? Buying me a drink."

Finn scratched his head.

* * *

"So this is the River Walk, huh?" Finn said, looking at the long stretch of road and shops, packed with people. "It's crowded."

The lights were on, the boats along the Alamo lined with multicoloured LEDs, the trees along the river strewn with it. The hustle and bustle of people eating and chatting and walking together, hand in hand.

Jasmin fumbled for Finn's hand. Finn let her have it, looking around in semi-dismay.

"But isn't it great, Finn?"

"I guess," Finn said. "I'm not too comfortable around so many people, though."

"Oh, I forgot you're new to big cities! C'mon, it's exciting, really."

"Really?"

"Yeah! There's stories everywhere. Y'know, like that boy with the fringe blocking part of his face. I bet he's a real shocker to his boyfriend."

"...Boyfriend?"

"He's obviously gay, duh."

Finn shuddered, fidgeting. His grasp on her hand went tight for a moment before he let go again.

Jasmin looked up. "You don't like gay people?"

"They freak me out," Finn said. "They're all girly and...I just...I just don't like them."

"Be more open-minded, Finn!" Jasmin said, and poked him on the nose. "I think they're cute."

"They're _creepy._"

"Do you like lesbians?"

Finn froze. An old couple pushed past them, muttering about 'young people these days'.

"You think it's hot, right?"

"I guess I kind of do."

"Then why are you freaked out by gay guys?"

"I don't know, I just am."

Jasmin let go of his hand. "I think I see someone else I know. Come on!"

Meeting up with Melissa, who she'd met in the line earlier, Jasmin told her about Finn, the guy she'd come with. When she turned to introduce Finn to Melissa, he was already gone.

"Oh, well," Jasmin said. "He was weird and didn't like gay guys anyway. Wanna go shopping?"

"Works," Melissa said, her drawl slow and lazy, and she wrapped an arm around Jasmin.

* * *

Finn stared out at the furthest point of Museum Reach, empty of most people at this time of night. He took slow, deep breaths, enjoying the silence. Finn'd always loved the sound of silence; he preferred being alone in the empty spaces, where he could watch the passing clouds and the expanse of blue sky. He liked being alone.

The waters of the Alamo rippled, lights off the docks reflecting off its patterns, and Finn stared out across the river to the city on the other side.

Hollywood had been a dream, a really good dream, and now he was fulfilling it. For once, he couldn't wait for time to pass faster.

"You know what, Melissa? I think this hat would be _perfect_ for Finn."

"He's a Southern boy without a cowboy hat? Shame on him. _Shame._ Now, where can I find a long stalk of wheat...?"

"Us Southerners have to stick together, right?"

"Right. Ooh! Shiny. We should go to La Villita next. I've heard so much good things about it."

* * *

Finn sighed.

"Hey Dad," he whispered to the river. "I hope you're doing okay in Heaven. This was your dream, too. I'll make you proud." 


	4. Auditions Part 4: Lincoln, NE

**A/N**: I'm sorry for this chapter being so late. In my defense, Lincoln, NE, is an empty, empty place...that I now know more of than I _ever _wanted to know...and even then I don't think this chapter is particularly up to snuff. So...it's late and _beep_py. However...it's also likely the lastupdate you'll be getting in a while, as I enter the military tomorrow. I'll only be back on the weekends, and the next city on the tour route is... research-intensive. So...I hope you still enjoy it for what it's worth, and this is, as always, for my muse.

(Also, I promised Kinn, Klaine, and Puckurt. I now update this to possibly include Kum. Heh. Heh heh heh heh hehehehehaaahaoooooo... Possibly...and Puck only gets a headstart because he's currently the only one out of the four of them who's in the same _state _as Kurt, _but _once we get to Hollywood all bets are _off._)

* * *

**This Is**

* * *

Puck raised his head up, blearily eying the other three participants in this mad, mad world. Situation. Whatever. He blinked, trying to make sense of the chaos and the rampant kissing and the giggling and the hiding. Not all of them were from who he would've expected, either.

"...I'm _still_ not drunk enough for this yet."

* * *

_This is...American Idol._

* * *

So from the Lone Star State, we've arrived in Star City, otherwise known as Lincoln, Nebraska.

Now, although Lincoln is primarily the sporting town of Nebraska, as can be seen from the large red N on the Memorial Stadium behind us, its live music scene _has_ been growing over the past five years, resulting in such hit groups as Aural Intensity - brought to fame by our very own Sue Sylvester - Birds And White Lemons, with their chart-topping hit Red Curtains and of course, Endorphin, who just replaced their frontman with last season's Idol runner-up, Jesse St. James.

So, with all these independent talents springing full-grown out of Nebraska, who will we see today?

* * *

_The red seats of the Memorial Stadium are first shown empty, rising high above the fields. Time speeds up as a mass of humanity floods through the gates. Quick close-ups reveal grins of anticipation and excitement, people holding up signs and pointing to each other, or to people wearing wristbands. At the gate, administrative people are busy handing signs with numbers on them to contestants, who paste them on. Some walk in, completely convinced of their singing talent, head held high, while others remain humble, only occasionally smiling at the camera. Some hum songs in warm-up, or bob their heads to music playing in iPods. Still others strum a guitar, and just like every other city, groups quickly form around the guitarists, forming little patterns in this seething, boisterous mass of humanity.

* * *

_

_Lift that barge, tote that bale..._

Now Nebraska is the Cornhusker State. It's on the name of the sports teams, the nicknames, the people itself. But whether anyone can be as successful in terms of singing - in terms of making it unique, making it big...now, that's a different question.

For once in the entire auditions circuit, the four judges aren't tired, and are actually optimistic about Lincoln's chances.

"-I fully expect to find some true talent here. In shining my shoes."

Well, everyone except Sue, of course. But by now, everyone's used to her. Or at least, they should be.

...This doesn't prevent contestants from having to flee the room in tears.

_Various shots of contestants breaking down into tears. While having to flee the room._

But here's someone who looks like he could stand through one of Sue's rants. Luke Fritz, 25 years old, from Dothan, Alabama.

"Hi, everybody. I'm Luke, and I've been watchin' American Idol since I was ten. I had the chance when I was fifteen to audition for American Idol, but a bunch of my friends - who I thought were better singers than me - tried and didn't make it through. So I thought I couldn't, either. Ten years on from that, and I've grown away from that insecurity. So I'm auditioning here to prove to myself and to America that doubt is one of the things that keeps us from success."

Fine words, Luke. But can your voice match your silver tongue?

* * *

"What are you singing for us today, Luke?"

"I'll be singing Teeth, by Lady Gaga."

"Gaga, huh?" Shannon leaned back in her chair. "That's difficult to pull off."

Sandy snorted into his hand. The other three judges looked over at him. "Difficult to pull off," he gasped. "Like...her clothing. Difficult to pull off - you get it? Ha!"

As one, the other three judges' heads swung back to Luke, who looked rather frightened.

"Don't be too put off," Will said, and gave a little flourish with his hand. "Go on."

* * *

"Take a bite of my bad, boy, meat-"

"-That suddenly takes on a whole new meaning," Will muttered under his breath.

"Didn't you notice in the original song?" Shannon said, then held up a hand. "What'd you think, Will?"

Will tilted his hand back and forth. "So-so. Not _bad_, precisely, but not great either."

Luke's face fell.

"But...I suppose..." Will's eyes narrowed. "With a bit more training, I think you could do quite well. Yes, I think you could do quite well. So, yes from me."

"Sue?"

"No."

"Sandy?"

Uncharacteristically serious, the overweight man polished his glasses on a hankerchief he fished out of a pocket. _This_ one was florally-patterned with a fox in the center of the cloth. "I'd advise you to choose a different song, Luke. Don't do Gaga, or any of the more recent produced music. There's very little live singing value in them; they focus mostly on easy, catchy hooks, and then production and computerised editing to make them unique. Given your voice, I'd advise you to look up some of the higher-ranged singers of the earlier 20th Century...you've got a solid quality to your tone, as well as some unique edge to the sound."

Shannon and Will gaped at him. They looked at each other. Back at him.

Sandy frowned at them.

Will flung his arms out. "Sandy! You're being serious again!" He grinned, hopefully.

"Yeah," Sandy said. "Don't expect this coherent state to last for too long."

* * *

With Luke's...lukewarm reception of his Lady Gaga performance (I'm sorry, but it had to be said), one would think that those who followed him would learn from his mistakes and not sing anything to do with Gaga.

What followed, in fact, was a Gaga parade...something that she would probably approve of.

* * *

"Rah-rah-uh-uh-uhhhhh-"

Uh...

"-I've had a little bit too much, and all the people start to _ruu-u-uuu-ush_-"

Hurk.

"-I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me, to write a bad romance-"

"Just dance, badda-bing-blam-badda-boom-boom-shake-da-dee-da-doo-da-ehh-ehh-ah-ha-badda-badda-blim-blam-ahhh-ooh-shaka-laka-hwee-hee-ha-ha-aaaa-a-a-a-aa-a-a-aaaa-a-a-a-ehh-ii-ohmmm-aii-dee-da-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-hey-"

Does that man have _gills_?

"-Let's play a love game-"

Um...

"I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me, love me, paparazzi!"

The disturbing thing about _that_ audition was that the contestant was looking at _Sue_. And she _approved._

Then again, what with the next line, I suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise.

"-Baby there's no other Sue-perstar-"

"You know you, can't read my, can't read my, poker face-"

And thaaat one? Breathed in weird places. Worse than Sandy.

"-Won't Stop Until I Call You Mine..."

And that one? Managed to somehow put emphasis on every word so it sounded like everything was capitalized. Not in caps. Capitalized.

_Beat._

I didn't even know that was humanly possible... outside of fiction!

* * *

"RAH-RAH-ROMA-MAAAAA-"

"Go home, crying to your 'mama'," Sue said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please. Do."

"What, no scathing comment, Sue?"

"Her screeching noises have momentarily corrupted my brain's faster-than-light signal to my bile-producing organs. Otherwise, I would have been puking on her quicker than you could say 'a tub of gel', pegajoso."

* * *

Aaand...a little bit of Sue - suiting, really, considering how headstrong both women are. Truly, a model for our industry today.

_Shot of Sue, snoring in her chair, as contestants peer at her anxiously._

Yes, a role model indeed.

_Sue, chewing with her mouth open, gaping at the most prissy of contestants, eagerly watching them fall apart._

The picture of role model inde-

"Midget," Sue said, towering over him. "Your display of sarcasm was about as pointed as the tip of Sandy's gut, which is large enough to sink the Titanic. Now, be quiet, or I shall have to make you."

Yes'm.

* * *

"Your name is _beep_sy."

"Tchtze, thank you. Pronounced '_Chit-tsy'_. I was bullied enough in high school..." the man muttered under his breath.

"Then you should be used to it by now, _beep_sy. Whatever. And your name is 'William'. That's already two strikes against you in my book. I'm going to say... 'no'."

"You haven't even heard him sing yet!"

"His name is William, William. And anyone who bears that name is automatically a lockjawed pansy. Raised on _beep."_

"If that's the case, Sue," Shannon cut in, "Then it's all the more impressive that he's here - given that being as much of a pansy as you're implying..."

Will shot her a betrayed look.

"Mr. Tcht-Chit-Cha...William," Sandy said, taking off his glasses and leaning forward. "Relentless mocking aside, please do continue with your audition. What will you be singing today?"

"Sandy!" Will said. "You're serious again!"

"Only because the rest of you are nuts," Sandy said frankly, and cleaned his glasses with a hankerchief he fished out of his pocket. This one was water-coloured with a hint of a rainbow displayed in the middle, in all the colours of blue.

The other three judges, yes, even Sue, stared at him, bewildered. Sandy placed the glasses back on his face. "Continue," he monotoned.

"Well, um," Tchtze said, "I'll be singing 'On The Street Where You Live'."

He took a breath.

"Are there lilac trees in this part of town -"

* * *

"I'm waiting at outside the audition room with William's family, all of which bear the Shi-Chi-Tchtze name. I've been practicing saying their name." He glanced away for a second. "They proudly hail from an Eastern European country, but when asked about their name they all seem to have developed selective hearing. I suppose it was a _little_ rude to ask them why they haven't changed their name yet."

William's mother glared at him, her prominent hawk-nose turning her glare from merely irritated to fully sinister. Ryan cringed.

The door opened.

"Well?" William's mother asked, her voice a harsh croak.

"They said..." William said, his face looking down. "Well, Sue said...that I was the _beep!"_

He fished out the golden ticket, and his family erupted into celebration and swarmed him.

Ryan grinned as encouraging music began to play.

* * *

Up next, more interesting names, more interesting songs, and will we find America's next Star from the Star City? Find out more...after the break.

* * *

_Fade out to black screen_.

* * *

"Hey, Blaine?"

The American Idol from Season 14 threw the hood up before turning to look at his main security guard. "What's up, Jeremiah?"

The tall, curly-haired man shrugged. "I was wondering if you were heading out again...without talking to me." Jeremiah fixed upon Blaine a Glare Of Doom. "I was also wondering if you were ready to be swarmed by the media."

Blaine sighed. "Yes, 'Miah, I was...and no, I guess I'm not ready. People don't really talk too much about the changes I had to make to my life, you know."

Jeremiah's eyes weren't particularly sympathetic. "Fame isn't all about fun and games, Blaine..."

"It's more about acting and dodging, I know," Blaine finished. "And sometimes hiding, depending on how much the paparazzi feel like seeking." He threw his hands up in frustration. "But it's just...I'm the first Idol in four years, if not more, that wasn't mildly famous before. Didn't have a fanbase before."

"Except for the time with the llama..."

"Except for the time with the llama. Which I thought we were never going to speak of again."

"_You_ agreed to that. I never said anything."

"I'm your principal! Does client confidence even mean anything to you?"

"Oh yes it does...when it's not hilarious."

"There are enough graphics of me and llamas _already_, 'Miah."

"Heh. Heh heh heh." Jeremiah very carefully did not tell Blaine that he was...casually encouraging the graphics to flourish. It did no harm to his principal...and it was pretty hilarious to watch his face whenever he saw another picture of a llama when he talked to his fans - again. And again and again and aga- "Hey!"

"What?" Blaine asked, fidgeting in his hoodie, otherwise careless of the fact that he was two steps further away from Jeremiah pre-llama talk.

"You don't get to go anywhere. Siddown. Stay."

"I just wanted to get to a TV so I could watch this season of American Idol...see who's going to join the crowd, you know," Blaine said, unconvincingly.

At least, by the standards of his chief bodyguard, who was now barring the door. "No, Blaine," Jeremiah explained. "You're not going out to be hunted down by the media. I have a headache today."

Blaine pouted. "Isn't that a girl's excuse?"

"No, I really do have a headache, and I don't want to exacerbate it by letting you run from the media like Bambi from hunters."

"Does that make you Thumper?"

"Headache. Worsening."

Blaine cackled.

"Llamas."

Blaine shut up.

* * *

Welcome back to American Idol. It's midday, and already the fifteen-thousand-strong crowd has thinned out to a much more manageable number.

"Urrrggh."

Of course, the corollary of that is that the judges' sanity has also lowered considerably...whether that's _manageable_ or not is entirely a different matter.

"_Beep. Beep. Beep."_

"SUE!"

"No, you _beep-beep-beep_plicker _beep_-face c_beep_tsucking beret-wearing bunch of _beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep-"_

Sandy casually pulled out a hankerchief to wipe the spit off his glasses. Sue was spraying it pretty unrelentlessly everywhere in the room - nowhere was safe (or dry) from her tirade.

This one was green-and-white striped with the promises of orange and yellow peeking out of the background.

* * *

It might be wise to cut away from that. The poor man having to face that was beginning to break down, I think.

He deserved to get through to Hollywood, if for his sheer endurance, if nothing else. Unfortunately, his voice was-

"-EEeeeeeEEEeeeEEee! For mEEEeEEeeeeEeEeEEEe!"

...Not _exactly_ Hollywood material.

* * *

Lincoln is one of the quieter cities in America. Apart from the growing live music scene, it's a city where you can wander around and watch the clouds pass, listen to the western meadowlark sing, pluck the goldenrod flower...carve your initials into the trees...just generally have a laid-back time.

A little bit of a pity that the contestants can't seem to get that philosphy when it comes to rejection.

"No, you _beep-beep-beep_plicker _beep_-face c_beep_tsucking beret-wearing bunch of _beeeeeeeeeeeep_- You listen to me, I have more talent in my pinkie finger than any of _you _have in your whole body. I'm so talented, I'm going to be the next American Idol, so you will retract that No and I will get a golden ticket, regardless of what you say! Give me a golden ticket! Now!"

_Shots of the judge's faces. Will looks shocked. Shannon covers her eyes and slumps. Sandy's asleep. And as for Sue..._

Folks, I think it's wise that we...

Sue's face darkened noticeably, and a twitch in her right eye became pronounceable. She rose to her feet and slammed one of her palms down on the table. The contestant jumped. Sue glared.

_The Ride of The Valkyries, by Richard Wagner, begins to play._

Sue opened her mouth.

_The music cuts off, and the Star Wars Theme begins, specificially the Emperor's Theme. With deep breathing overlaid over the top._

The contestant began ranting again, and the American Idol censoring sign appeared and reappeared on her lips more times than Jessica Simpson visits the buffet table.

_Cut to Sue._

The blue oval is on her lips. It doesn't leave.

The other three judges cringed.

_The music swells to a full, thunderous roar, almost painful to listen to, easily drowning out what would be said._

Will plugged his ears with his fingers as Sue raised one judging finger.

_Fireworks, by Katy Perry, begins to play._

The contestant keeled over, and looking very satisfied, Sue sat back down, calmly folding her hands together. Medical orderlies rushed into the room to pick the contestant off the ground, and try to get her to uncurl from her fetal position. And possibly to get her thumb out of her mouth.

Sue smiled.

Sandy was quivering in his seat. He pulled out a hankerchief.

The camera focused on the other cameraman, who was focusing on the camera, his face white.

"I'm not, not, not," the other cameraman whispered, his voice carrying clearly, to Sue's amusement. "I can't...I can't look at Sue Sylvester right now...s'why I keep focusing on the hankerchief...it keeps me sane..."

* * *

"Hey, Ryan," the next contestant said. Ryan kneeled down so that they were on the same level. "Sue's supposed to be a vocal coach, right? So how come, in all her time on the show, you've never shown her actually _teaching_ anyone?"

"She does help," Ryan said. "It's all behind the scenes, though. She doesn't like us filming her because it's supposedly a secret special-technique, but I'll point out that everyone she's tutored has gone very, very far. Blaine Andersen, from last season, was one of her pupils. She only helps people who she thinks deserve it...but her standards are _so high _that the people who she's willing to teach don't need to be taught."

"Oh," the boy said. "I see."

Ryan patted the boy's gloved hand. "She's going to like you."

"I hope so," the boy said, then took a deep breath. "Time to face the music, right?"

"Right," Ryan said.

* * *

"What's this?" Sue asked. "Another sob story we don't want to hear? We're not the Oscars, rollerskater boy, and a sob story won't get you any further if your talent's not up to scratch."

Artie took a deep breath. "I think you'll find that I've got the vox to back up my boasts."

"Oh?" Shannon said, leaning forward. "Do tell."

"I was in a boy band for a couple of years before _this_ happened," Artie said, pointing down at his paralyzed legs. "I really miss being able to dance...but I can still sing, and do some of the moves."

"Dance? In that wheelchair? This, I've got to see," Sue said, beginning to look intrigued. "Go on."

"I wanted to know you - but karma's a trip now..."

* * *

"I'm impressed," Sue said, blinking quickly. "Do that move again. The one-wheeler."

Artie shrugged, and did it, crossing his arms over each other as the wheelchair's other rubber-rimmed wheel bounced back into position. "...You probably shouldn't have left me standing alone..."

"It's like watching one of the boy-bands from the nineties, complete with ubercorny moves," Sue said, with a not-so-subtle glance over at Will.

Will's face twisted as he absorbed the hit. "I'm going to say yes."

"Looking at everyone, I'm confident in saying that it's a warm welcome to Hollywood, Artie."

* * *

And so Artie joins fifteen other equally memorable contestants from the honorable city of Lincoln, Nebraska, in celebrating their paid-for trips to the Pasadena Center. As for everyone else, some left the building in tears, others with assurances that they'd only get better in seasons to come, and more than a few probably assigned to a mental hospital or two, courtesy of Sue.

But tune in next time, as we travel to a city that sprawls over _three _states...the city of bright neon and shady bars, the land of cool gin and hot pianos, the one with the musical, Chicago.

_Tss-tss-tss...and all that jazz._


End file.
